


Guns, Badges, Poker and Roses

by stilinskisoul



Series: Derek/Reader ficlets [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Federal Agents, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Alternative Universe - FBI, BAU - Behavioral Analysis Unit, Criminal Minds Setting, Derek Has a Crush, Derek is a Tease, Derek is their leader, Drunkenness, F/M, Federal Bureau of Investigation, Jealous Derek, Poker, Protective Derek, Reader is also a Tease, derek hale imagine, in the beginning the Reader has a relationship that Derek doesn't approve of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 00:00:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5805436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilinskisoul/pseuds/stilinskisoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek Hale is the leader of the BAU department in FBI. His unit is called over to Las Vegas to investigate a spree killer, who has taken the lives of three women so far. An undercover mission at a poker event ensues, where the Reader is asked to go with Derek as "his girl", in Derek's wording.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  <i>Unbeta'd, unfinished, but will probably continue it if there is demand for it.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Next chapter is to be uploaded in the next couple days -- I just need to type it in from my notebook.
> 
> Thanks to all of you for your generous support!! I hope you will like this just as much as you did the previous imagines. Enjoy :)

“We need you to join us this time,” says Derek to my question, which was, ‘Why are you announcing that to me?’ I shake my head, somewhat probably frantic.

“I don’t do scene investigation,” I point out, my heart sinking just a tiny bit. I’ve been longing for that job. “But you already know that.” He nods, leaning his broad shoulder against the doorframe as the folds his arms across his chest.

“I know you don’t,” he reassures, “because that’s not included in your job description. But I also happen to know that you’re fond of that kind of work.” Derek’s tone is steady, confident. And as always, he’s right when it comes to reading people. I let out a long breath.

“Okay,” I give in. “You got me, boy. Now tell me everything that has to be known about your so-called neurotic.” He snorts.

“Come, follow me. Pack some stuff then join us at the rooftop. Meet us there in two hours.”

“Sure,” I nod, staring at him without blinking. I’m trying my best to look as accusatory as physically possible to me. “I didn’t have any plans with anyone for tonight or anything, really.” Derek rolls his eyes.

“I know you didn’t have any plans,” he states, sounding just as sure of himself as before. I decide to retort back. I want him to know I’m sacrificing a date for their case.

“In fact,” I start, speaking slowly. “I was indeed supposed to meet someone this evening.” At my statement, his eyes widen for a split second, and his eyebrows shoot up momentarily, signing his genuine surprise to me.

“You really were,” he says again, like he’s trying to make himself believe it. Why is it so unbelievable that I was about to see someone?

“But since I love you more, I’ll cancel my plans for you,” I add, ignoring his temporary shock in favour of our conversation. “I’ll also have to pass this sample over to someone, by the way.” He blinks at me, eyes still boring into me. “Just so you have a vague idea how much your unit can screw up my days.” Derek smiles at me, then cocks his head towards the entrance.

“Come and I’ll make it up to you,” he promises, and I huff out a brief laugh as I rid myself of the goggles and the rubber gloves, disposing of them as I walk pass the bin, approaching Derek. His smirk gets exponentially wider the closer I get to him.

“Take me on a date, you mean?” I ask teasingly, for some reason making his expression sink for a second, the corners of his mouth twitching in a stifled frown.

“If you must,” he nods in the end, after having shaken himself awake from his stupor that apparently I caused him with my question.

“Good,” I say, sinking my hands into the pockets of my white gown. With my head, I gesture for him to leave the lab with me. He does.

At the door, I pause for a moment to grab my notepad, then assimilate into the crowd with Derek.

“Where are we going to go?” I ask as we reach the elevator, hurtling our way over to it.

“Las Vegas,” he answers immediately. “A guy is out on a spree—he’s murdered three people by now, all of them women. he’s leaving behind riddles taken from the Bible, but no other trace whatsoever. This guy burnt two of his victim’s bodies, raped the third pre-mortem and calls himself Michael.”

“He was God’s second favourite, and Lucifer’s brother,” I add the first thing that comes to my mind in connection with that information, puzzling Derek. His eyebrows knit together in confusion.

“What do you mean?” I shrug, leaving the elevator as it stops on the ground floor with a soft _ding_.

“Dude obviously thinks he’s God’s archangel or something.”

Derek hums, coming level with me by enhancing his walking speed.

“Nice deduction,” he compliments. “We haven’t thought of that option yet.”

“Actually, that was an induction, but thank you,” I grin at him, earning a deadpan look from him. “Apparently your unit would be lost without my prowess,” I add playfully, making him smile, too. He pushes the front door open for me, letting me out before himself.

“How about I take you home, wait for you until you get ready, then we go to my place so that I can finish packing my stuff, too?” he offers his plan as we both hop in his Camaro.

“‘Finish’ packing?” is what I decide to go with. He grins.

“I actually have a half-packed suitcase kept under my bed because I know I can be called in anytime to fly to different areas of the States.”

“Sounds reasonable,” I nod approvingly. I look out the window to my right as I say, “As for your idea; I’m OK with it.”

. o O o .

“Sure you packed everything?” he asks. I nod.

“As sure as I can possibly be.” I jerk my jaw towards the cup that he’s nursing between his fingers. “You ready?”

He also answers with a nod of his own, setting the cup down in the sink and rinsing it off. “Let’s go, then.”

He loads my suitcase into the trunk of his car, then he drives to his own apartment. Derek is quicker to get ready with his packing, and while he finishes up, I call my date to cancel tonight’s meeting. Derek doesn’t comment on it.

He takes us back to the FBI headquarters, where we join the rest of the team at the roof, but only after I grab some much needed accessories from the lab. The helicopter takes us to the airport where our plane is already awaiting to take off.

“Did you bring a nice dress with you, (Y/N)?” asks Isaac with a cocky half smile as I sit down with them, now in the plane.

“I told her to pack one, and she did,” Derek cuts in before I could even take a breath to give an answer on my own. I shoot a glare over at him, but Derek dismisses me with a shrug. I let it go, too.

“So what do we know about Michael so far?” interjects Stiles, with a leg thrown lazily over the other, a notebook in his left hand in his lap, his right arm propped on the armrest of his seat, holding a pen and chewing at the end of it.

“(Y/N) suggested that Michael may be a fake name,” Derek says immediately. “He deliberately chose that because of its connections to the Bible, presumably because his homicides stem from pathological envisioned self-righteousness. He likely thinks he’s God’s assistant on Earth.”

“Rather assassin,” comments Isaac. Derek gives him a pointed look, conveying he should be concentrating on the job instead of joking around. Isaac visibly shrinks in his seat, proceeding to shut his mouth.

“Sounds reasonable to me,” Stiles says, winking at me. I smile at him briefly. “Why don’t we take your with us more, again?” he asks, making me blush a bit. I fidget in my seat, rearranging myself in it.

“Because she has lab work, not field word, sweetheart,” comes Lydia’s voice through the speakers of the laptop open on the coffee table in the middle. Stiles can’t help his smile.

“We also don’t know what he used to burn his victims,” Scott chimes in.

“I’m guessing that’s the part you need me for,” I add.

“Pretty much,” Allison assures. “Partly.” My eyebrows twitch.

“What else besides sample analysis?”

“You can read people well, too,” Lydia answers. “And you can possible recognise smells that the others can’t. And for the general ‘more eyes notice more’ rule.”

“Fair enough,” I say. “Still, you could have asked someone else from the lab to join you.”

“Nah,” Stiles huffs. “You’re the only brainy we actually like.”

I resist asking ‘really?’ and instead just focus on stifling my grin that stubbornly wants to spread on my face.

. o O o .

As for choosing who to sleep with, it’s pretty obvious form the start that Allison and Scott are going to hire one room for themselves, so that they can be together. The rest of us—Stiles, Isaac, Derek and I—opt to sleep separately. I know full well that none of them would have appreciated it if I set up my little ‘home laboratory’ in the room.

While I’m in the middle of packing out, there is a knock on my door, so I pause my current activity for the sake of opening up to whoever that is out there in the corridor. Pushing the door open, I’m faced with Derek.

“Hey,” I say.

“Hi,” Derek greets me back. I glance at my watch. “You guys said I have half an hour to get ready for the field survey.”

“I know,” Derek says, nodding. “You still do. I’m just here to tell you about how this goes generally. I figure you need a little instruction, since it’s your first time doing field work. I know it can be a bit confusing; it _was_ for me for the first time around,” he explains. A smile of gratitude appears on my lips and I invite him inside.

“Thanks,” I answer genuinely. “I could really use some advice, actually. Especially for tomorrow night; how will I have to behave there? What facade do I have to muster? What will I have to convey about my character? I mean, what do other people have to see me as?”

“Well,” Derek starts, licking his lips as he thinks of his answer. He sits at the edge of my bed, leaning backwards, allowing his arms to take his weight. I sit next to him, listening to him. “You and I are going undercover to that poker event, and you will have to appear as my girl. Either as one I paid for,” I wince at the hint. “or as my actual girlfriend—this is up to you. But then again, the line between these two can be blurred, so. . .” he shrugs.

I lick my lips as well.

“Okay,” I say slowly, my eyes travelling over to the carpet. “So basically an empty-headed chick who’s head-over-heels for you,” I clear up.

“Pretty much,” Derek says. Now it’s also clear why he insisted I also take a red dress with me instead of a less vivid coloured one.

“All right,” I nod. “I think I can do that what will I have to be looking for?”

“Anything odd,” he says. “Maybe he will reek of gasoline, but he will try to conceal it with cologne, I don’t know. Maybe he will have burn marks on his skin. Maybe he will express behaviour that matches our profile. I honestly don’t know.”

“It’s okay, I got the idea,” I reassure him. Derek glances at his watch briefly.

“You ready?” he asks. I check the time as well, then quickly stand and motion for him, gesturing between my suitcase and the wardrobe near the bed.

“Almost, just give a second and I’ll finish this up.”

Derek allows me with a nod, keeping his eyes on me while I commute between the wardrobe and my suitcase. I finish just in time, and the two of us go downstairs to the hall to meet the others.

. o O o .

The next morning, I wake at 8. the first thing I do is setting up the laboratory for myself. When I check my mobile, I notice that Dan sent me a message since we last talked over the phone. He wished me luck with the case and reassured me that it was okay, and we will just arrange another date if I want to.

‘ _I definitely want to. And thank you for the encouragement.’_

I hit send, then get ready so that I can go to the others. Once everyone has waken up, we travel to the local police department. The sheriff here is a man called Michael Keen, and the coincidence of the names makes me suppress a smile. Then his eyes land on me.

“And she is. . .?” he asks, giving me a once-over.

“(Y/N),” I take a step forward, sticking my hand out for him to shake. He takes it, grip firm and sure, confident. He says, “Pleasure’s mine,” then lets go of me and starts leading us through the building. He shows us where the conference room is where the team is going to present their conclusions about the profile of the spree killer and the office that they are temporarily given to work in.

“Can we go to the crime scene?” Derek asks in his business voice. Michael nods and makes a gesture towards the elevator.

“This way. Go ahead,” he says, and we do as told.

It takes about twenty minutes for us to arrive to the place in question obviously, I have a bag on my side so that I can collect samples if needed. I won’t need a plastic overall, because the crime scene investigation has already been done, so there is little likelihood that I would find anything at all anyway.

We all put on plastic gloves, then Derek opens the door and steps in, Stiles following suit. This is the first time that I can inspect an investigation up-close. I’m the last to enter; the sight that welcomes me makes me shiver for some reason. Isaac takes a walk around, Stiles checks the computer, Scott is also on a journey through the house, and Allison and Derek are at the bedroom where the homicide occurred, searching for clues that the CSI might have missed. Also, the two of them are the best at envisioning what the motives must have been of the killer—they are pro at putting themselves in the suspect’s shoe.

Faintly, however, I can still smell the scent of the ignition on the black burnt sheets. I put on a pair of rubber gloves, take out a plastic bag and collect a bit of the blanket that I can analyse once I’m back in my room.

. o O o .

I spend most of my day in my room, working. I’m sent numerous text messages by Derek and Dan throughout the day, but apart from reading them, I don’t do anything with them. Half of my mind, however, is always thinking of tonight’s undercover mission, planning ahead for the act. I leave my work a bit earlier than I planned, so that I can check some films and accumulate information about how such women are supposed to behave, and get a rough, sketchy idea of the etiquette of such places.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Reader and Derek are such a tease to each other, oh God...

Before due time, I start getting ready. My phone buzzes with messages constantly after eight, all of them from Derek—he’s telling me where to meet him and when, then he changes his mind and promises to come to my room so that we can go together from there. I simply write back an ‘OK’, and proceed to make my hair flawlessly.

Derek knocks on my door just a few minutes before I would finish, I only need to make the last touches on my make-up and hair. I open the door, but don’t pause to greet him; instead, I turn around as soon as the lock clicks open, fixing my earring. I can hear Derek closing the door softly.

“Just a minute,” I say in a little hurry, already in the bathroom again.

“If I was given a dollar every time a woman promised that to me. . .” he sighs playfully. I roll my eyes.

“I said _a minute_ ,” I stress. I can hear Derek chuckle in the lobby. I ruffle my hair, fix the black flower on the side of my neck, then leave. I pick up my small designer handbag from the rumpled sheets, put my high-heels on, then go for the lobby, where Derek is still standing in his expensive suit, re-clasping his watch on his wrist and adjusting his tie. When his hands are on his tie, he looks up as I appear from behind the wall—the first time he glances at me, his jaw momentarily drops a bit and he looks positively stunned. I smile at him briefly with my blazing red lips.

“So? How’s my disguise?” I ask, swirling around, when his eyes are still inly roaming over my figure without doing anything else. He shakes his head modestly, hardly noticeably before answering.

“Good. Great. I, uh—” he stutters, eyes glancing down once more. “I. . . haven’t seen you like this. Ever.” I nod.

“Of course you haven’t. It’s not my style after all,” I shrug, then nod towards the door behind him. “So? Are we going?”

He nods, immediately switching to a smoldering handsome man, holding out his arm for me. I take it without a second thought, smiling at him teasingly, which he reciprocates with a cocky smirk of his own. He looks insanely attractive and for a brief moment, my gaze drops down to his mouth involuntarily. When I look back up, I can see him watching my lips, too. I notice suddenly that we are incredibly close to each other—so much in fact that we could might as well be sharing the same breath.

My cheeks heat up.

“Let’s go,” whispers Derek, voice raspy and low. Has it ever been like this? This. . . _seductive_. I swallow, but manage to nod. I answer in a tiny voice, “Yeah,” practically only breathing out the syllables. He takes a step back so that he can proceed to open the door for me. I shake myself awake before stepping into the corridor. If I want to be authentic, I have to get rid of my awkwardness first.

I take a steeling deep breath—from now on, we are bound to act according to our facades. As he turns around, I grin at him attractively, which he reciprocates after momentary hesitation. He snakes his arm around my waist and pulls me close to his body. We walk to the elevator like this, tangled together.

After we descended to the ground floor and the doors slide open for us, Derek gives a modest squeeze to my flesh where his calloused hand is resting over my skin through the soft material of my dress.

He leads me out of the elevator, straightly outdoors, to a limousine. My jaw drops for a second, but then I remind myself that this is also part of the disguise. I sit in as gracefully as I can manage, then Derek does the same. I let out a long, deep breath as soon as the door of the car is closed and it’s just the two of us again in the few cubic meters of air inside. Derek and I exchange a look, as though conveying it will be tiring for us to act like our shadow natures.

It takes about twenty minutes for us to arrive at the party. Derek helps me out of the limousine, dismissing the chauffeur, who goes back to the front and proceeds to drive away from there. I look at Derek’s face as I reach for his offered hand again, only for my heart to stutter in my chest and miss a beat—Derek is looking at me with a gaze so intense I’m positive it’s burning two holes into my very soul.

The outline of his face is glowing in the many colours coming from behind, from the casino’s adornments, casting soft shadows where his sharp lines jut out. His irises seem to be an unbelievable colour now.

I click my mouth shut and remind myself that I must play along accordingly, and not as though I was a stranger to him, not as a new girl.

_No emotions, just pure acting_ , I keep repeating in my mind by way of a reminder. I reciprocate with a half smile on my own, even adding a playful wink to it before purring, “Let’s go, tiger, and let me see how good you are at this game.”

Derek’s smirk widens and he leans in to whisper into my hear in a low tone, “Oh, very much. Just you wait, baby.”

I shiver at the name he addressed me with. For some reason, I got the feeling that this brief conversation was  _out of context_ . I shake it off, though, and start walking inside with him as he starts towards the entrance.

The manual metal detector doesn’t sense the tiny earphones in our ears, nor the camera hidden among the soft folds of the lacy rose at the side of my neck, attached to the red choker around it. It perfectly matches the colour of my short dress, putting my cleavage in a trapeze-shaped frame as the straps of the dress come to fold together behind my neck.

Derek pulls me flush to his side like I was drifting away from him in my steps. I look up at him questioningly, but he just shoots an attractive smile at me which could melt my insides if Derek actually had the ability to do that. His fingers flex on my hip, reminding me of my duty, of the fact that I’m supposed to be playing along.

“Come on, baby girl, let’s get some chips,” he says, making a beeline for the queue. I whine.

“Do we really have to wait this much?” I ask, mustering a pouty face at him. He looks around.

“Maybe you could get yourself something to drink?” he suggests, pulling out a dollar from his inner pocket, holing it up between his index and middle fingers. Damn, Derek is way too good at this. I grin at him as I let my own fingers snake around his big hand, snatching the money with an abrupt movement. He chuckles, then shoos me away. As I turn, I make sure to touch the tip of my index finger to his freshly shaven chin, stroking it in a line as I walk away, my high-heels clicking on the rug in stifled noises.

At the bar, I order whiskey—I’m not at all fond of alcohols, especially not such strong ones, but as for now, the situation calls for it, so I figure I can force the liquid down my throat once in my life.

Although I could ignore the bartender’s attempts at flirting, I can’t get away when a man slides onto the stool net to me. To his pushful smile, I answer with a fake one.

“Can I get you another?” he asks, nodding towards the glass in my hand. I chuckle.

“I actually haven’t even drunk any of it yet,” I say. I wince internally at the sarcasm in my sentence, hoping he won’t notice. I feel awkward for being hit on by someone; I could never handle such situations well—samples and goggles are what my world consists of.

The man smirks, and I have no idea what reason he has to do that—I didn’t encourage him, did I?

“Ever heard of the test regarding a glass and liquid inside it?” he asks out of the blue. I shake my head slowly.

“What do you mean?” I raise the glass to my lips, deliberately keeping the eye contact with the stranger. He leans a touch closer, and there’s so much I can do not to lean away on instant. The next time he speaks, I discover that his tone has dropped a note lower. I resist frowning. Now I remember exactly why I’ve never had ambitions to become such a woman.

“How would you describe it? Is it half full or half empty?” I glance at my glass of whiskey before shrugging.

“Actually,” I say, drinking the entire serving in one go. My whole body shivers in resistance as I swallow the burning fluid. “I’m a problem solver.” I smile at him sweetly, then wink at the bartender before striding away from there, swaying my hips softly. I search for Derek but he’s incredibly hard to find among al these people who are also wearing a suit.

Then a voice in my ear speaks up.

“He’s at table 47,” says Isaac through the mic. “Playing Texas Hold’em.” I make a quick survey to figure out the rule of the numbers of the tables, then start towards the previously given one. Isaac talks to me again. “Yes, that way.” I obviously can’t respond, but apparently he can sense what I would have asked if I had the chance, because he adds, “Lydia granted us access to the cameras in the room. We can see both of you. Oh, and there’s another chick with Derek, so don’t be surprised. That guy seriously knows how to play poker.”

Rationally, I know it’s all part of the act, but at the same time, my heart sinks at this last piece of information. However, just I square my shoulders and tilt my chin up to resemble a prideful woman instead of a lost little girl whose boyfriend has been taken. While on my way to table 47, I don’t fail to keep looking around, trying to spot any inconsistency in the area. I can’t spot anything besides the painfully obvious tricks the game masters do to keep this place alive and running.

Then Derek comes into my line of sight; sure enough, just like Isaac promised, there is a woman draped over his back, manicured hands massaging his shoulders. I have to swallow a mouthful of bile, even though I have no right to feel that way—Derek and I are not  _really_ together after all.

I approach them. Derek doesn’t even glance up at me, whereas the woman gives me a once-over. I don’t miss the way one of her eyebrows arches up in disdain, clearly judging me without saying a word, although her body is talking loud and clear to me. I ignore her as I step directly next to Derek, making sure my hip is touching his deltoid muscle. He doesn’t even budge, he’s so invested in the game. I bet he can’t feel the woman’s hands on his shoulders either. For some reason, that thought grants me satisfaction.

A few minutes later, Derek wins the game—for the time being, I inspect all players closely, but none of them seems to be out of place, so I suggest we won’t need to suspect any of them.

As Derek stands, his eyes land on the unknown woman, and his lips part in the beginning of a question, but it dies on those soft pinks as soon as he notices me in his peripheral vision. He reaches out, grabs my waist, pulls me flush to him and kisses my temple, murmuring encouraging words to me, all the while calling me baby names, such as ‘Doll’, ‘Baby Girl’, ‘Sweetheart’ and ‘My Girl’. I have to admit, the last one especially makes me giddy. His warm lips at my ear are legitimately driving me insane slowly, especially in that whiskey in my system—it makes me more daring, I know that full well. I ignore it for now, however.

Also, I’m on duty right now. And I was about to go on a date  _with someone else_ just a day ago.

Derek proceeds to join more and more games, making that much more money—apparently he’s pretty good at poker, like Isaac pointed it out a while ago—, while simultaneously I engage in chatting with random people, trying to get out as many information from them as possible. The only thing that’s an issue about this is the fact that all of them buys me a drink, so I get groggy and tipsy rather fast, a fog setting down on my mind.

The next time I get back to Derek, I’m already smiling constantly stupidly due to the alcohol. Derek frowns at me.

“He wasn’t the suspect either,” I inform him. He has to catch my hand before I could point at said person, and disguises it as though he only wanted to kiss the back of my hand and not prevent me from pointing at someone.

“I think we should leave,” he suggests, murmuring with his mouth still against my skin, looking up at me from behind his long dark lashes. “You’re as good as nearly drunk. You shouldn’t talk to anyone else now. We’ll return tomorrow once your mind is refreshed.”

I shake my head.

“No, I—” I sway a bit when he lets go of me. “I’m okay,” I insist, but he leaves no room to protest; he wraps his strong arm around me, then strides towards the cashier to exchange the chips he collected tonight, then leaves with me.

During the drive back, Derek takes out the mics from both of our ears and turns the off, cutting the connection off with the rest of the BAU team. As we get out of the limousine, Derek supporting me, he says quietly, “I’ll take you to your room, okay?”

I shake my head, snatching my hand out of Derek’s meek grip. “I’m fine,” I slur, starting to slowly walk towards the entrance of the hotel we are staying in.

“Sure you are,” Derek deadpans before following me. Just as the elevator doors are about to close in front of me, dividing us from each other, Derek extends his arm to keep them open and he slips in next to me. My foggy mind supplies me with ideas of Derek and I, but I squash down the voice in my head that’s urging me to climb my hunky colleague like a tree.

To prevent that, I try to get out of the elevator as soon as I can, but Derek makes it impossible, because he follows me out without a second thought, coming hot on my heels.

“You don’t have to help me,” I repeat once more, hearing his footsteps approaching. I don’t look back at all, just start fishing for my key to open the door, only for it to end with me stumbling for losing my balance, and it urging Derek to launch forward to be able to catch me before my head would hit the wall, hard.

Blinking my eyes open, they meet Derek’s pale greenish hazel gaze, merely inches away from my own. His hot palms are burning my waist and scalp where they are resting against my skin.

On their own accord, my eyes dip to his mouth for a second, and when I fix them back at his eyes, I find them looking downwards as well. My heart misses a beat.

“Um,” I stutter out. “Let’s get inside,” I mumble, and Derek’s eyes snap up to meet mine again. It takes him a couple of seconds to react to my suggestion. He helps me stand up, not letting me go until I regain my balance. Even then, he keeps his palm on the small of my back as I go back to feeling for my key and let us in.

“Here, sit down,” Derek says gently, snatching a glass from the top of the small fridge and filling it with water from the tap. He holds the glass in front of my mouth, but when I reach for it to get it from him, he says, “Uh-uh,” moving it away, out of my reach. I shoot a glare at him, but it doesn’t affect him one bit. “I’m not letting you hold it,” he points out, leaving no room to budge.

“Get some sodium hydrogen-carbonate,” I instruct him, only to earn a confused look from his part.

“A what?”

“Alka-seltzer,” I correct myself, frowning as I force my mind to remember its casual name. Derek shakes his head absentmindedly, chuckling softly.

“Okay, give me a minute to find it for you,” he stands, pacing around the hotel room. For the time being, I snatch my phone and open the messaging. When Derek comes back to me, his eyebrows knit together as he notices the mobile in my hands. “What are you doing?”

Before I even have the chance to reply, he’s already crossed the bedroom, standing next to me, eyes finding the screen of my cell.

His frown deepens when his gaze settles on Dan’s name. The next time he speaks, his voice sounds harder, more distant than before for some reason. I open my mouth to ask him about it, but he beats me to it by taking the device out of my grip.

“Hey!” I exclaim. “Give it back!”

“No,” he refuses easily. “I won’t let you talk to anyone while you’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk, just tipsy,” I correct him.

“Okay, let me rephrase it for you.” He manages to sound mocking. “I’m not letting you talk to anyone while you’re under the influence of alcohol.” I groan, hand flying to my throbbing forehead.

“Ethyl-alcohol, not alcohol,” I warn him. “Chemically, ‘alcohol’ is just an umbrella term, and the matter you want to refer to here is ethanol. I could even go blind if I drank methanol, because the human digestive system breaks it down to formalin molecules, which ruins tissues. It’s a common knowledge.” Derek laughs.

“I have no idea how your brain has capacity to make you spurt such things in this state, but I have to say you’re actually funnier and more of a know-it-all when you’re tipsy,” he says, amused. I growl softly, but don’t respond otherwise. Rather, I drink the water he brought me in one go. “Feeling any better?”

I shake my head slowly.

“Not quite.” Derek chuckles again, standing from where he’s been crouching in front of me. He extends his hand towards me, offering help to me.

“Come, I’ll help you get ready for bed.”

“Thanks,” I say, genuine. As I stand, I wobble on my legs, so he reaches out for me to be able to catch me in time If it were needed. I don’t lose my balance, though, so Derek proceeds to help me out of my dress. He kneels down in front of me, tenderly sliding his fingertips and palm against the back of my calf, lifting my leg a bit so that he can rid my feet of my high-heels.

Then he stands and carefully turns me around to pull the zipper down o the back of my dress, only to realize that it doesn’t have one. He turns me again so that we are back to being face to face, and he reaches down for the hem of my dress. Derek gently eases it up and over my head, dropping it to the floor.

His cheeks instantly go red when he sees that I didn’t wear a bra under the dress. I don’t act on it, oblivious in my delirium. Derek clears his throat, moving for the wardrobe to get out a big T-shirt for me to wear for the night. He finds the one he  left me a couple months ago—it was the one he wore at his training before he was allowed to join the FBI. The tee is inky blue with yellow letters spelling out the name of the bureau, although they have faded over time. A smile tugs up one of the corners of his mouth, then he helps me put it on before sitting me on the edge of the bed.  He kneels in front of me once more, eyes scanning my face.

“Are you feeling okay?” he asks, worry seeping his tone. I nod. Derek ducks his head lower by a notch, trying to catch my eyes again to relock gazes with me. “Don’t you. . . need to go to the bathroom?” he asks carefully. I shake my head, indicating ‘no’. “Okay,” he says, but it seems more like he said that to himself instead of me as a reassurance. “Are you sleepy?”

I slur something remotely similar to a positive response under my breath, so Derek moves to recline me on the bed before flicking off the lights.

“This okay?” he whispers as he creeps under the bedspread next to me.

“Uh-huh,” I groan, scooting close to him and resting my head on his pectoral muscle. His arm comes resting around me, holding me to himself protectively, like a wolf preserving its territory from outsiders. Derek fetches his phone from the pocket of his trousers to type in a quick message for the others to inform them that he’s taking care of me—basically making sure I won’t drown in my vomit during the night—, then he drops the device and meekly turns slightly towards me, making us face each other more. I faintly register the warm touch of his soft lips against my forehead, but then I succumb to the temptation of subconsciousness entirely.

. o O o .

The next morning, I wake with indescribable headache. I can’t help the legitimate  _growl_ that leaves my mouth as a reaction to the pain. It doesn’t take me long to realize I’m better off not moving at all, because infinite dizziness takes over me every time I rustle around too much under the blanket.

As soon as my headache dissolves a bit, my mind has the capacity to acknowledge other things too, such as the fact that my outfit was changed. My heart starts beating at a punishing pace, making my head throb again. I groan, hand flying to touch my palm to my forehead, like that would actually take the pain away.

Getting rid of the nausea would make me content, too.

Suddenly I hear quiet footsteps, and in a few seconds, Derek appears at the entrance of the bedroom, with only a towel slung around his hips lazily, the material hanging sinfully low, giving me a clear shot of his hipbones and external oblique muscles.

It takes me surprisingly much effort to avert my eyes. They slide slowly upwards on his body, taking the time to take in every minute detail of his toned muscles, covered by his tan skin with shining droplets of water flowing down on it, finding the valleys between the tones.

The whole sight of him is just entirely obscene.

I warn myself not to dare to let my jaw drop down. Finally, my eyes find his pale ones.

“Last night, did you. . . ?”

“. . . Take advantage of you?” he finishes instead of me. I don’t have the time to react before he’s shaking his head dismissively. “No. you know I would never do that, not to you.”

Sick as it sounds, a small part of me actually  _wanted_ him to take advantage of the situation—it still does.

I acknowledge his answer with a curt nod.

“Did I. . . ?”

“. . . Vomit on me?” he asks with a teasing half smile, cocking his head to the side playfully, reminding me of a cheeky cat. He shakes his head no once more, his pectorals flexing as he rakes his fingers through his short dark locks of wet hair. Water drops fly everywhere in their wake. “Don’t feel bad about it,” Derek says silently, gently, and that is when I realize I’m staring intensely at the blanket in front of me with what much appear to be a mixture of sad and mortified expression.

“I’m grateful for everything you did for me last night,” I thank him, then add a little correction accompanied by a half-shrug, “At least for what I _assume_ you did.”

Derek snickers.

“You are very welcome.”

Luckily for me, he has the grace not to mention the undressing part, because one thing I can starkly remember is the fact that I was certainly  _not_ wearing a bra.

Derek walks over to a neatly folded pile of clothes casually, his stance and movements reflecting his pride—he wears it in his entire being, in the way his eyes claim everything they land on.

“Feeling better now?” he asks abruptly, startling me out of my thoughts.

“Huh?” I mumble, shaking myself awake.

“Are you okay now?” he repeats, turning to face me, a hand holding the tiny towel on his body at his hip, the other gripping his black boxer briefs, extremely unhelpfully making me that much more conscious about the fact that Derek is naked under that small piece of material that’s barely covering anything of him. My face heats up.

“Uh, I’m. . .” I stutter out, voice wavering. “I guess you could say I’m better. But I still feel nauseous. Is there alka-seltzer in the room?” My question erupts a laugh from Derek, making my head throb again. “What’s so funny?” I groan, pulling the covers over my face, blocking out the world.

“Last night you asked for the same thing, albeit at first you called it something else. There was definitely sodium in it. And hydrogen. Also something else.”

“I hope it wasn’t sodium hydrogen-carbonate,” I groan. “Because that’s baking soda. That’s just one component of alka-seltzer.” Suddenly I stop my rambling, remembering that perhaps Derek is not interested in hearing it. “Sorry, I should probably shut up.”

“Okay, little scientist,” Derek coos, amused. “Now take some medicine and get some rest.”

“Nah,” I protest. “I gotta go to work.”

I can hear rustling, so I figure Derek is dressing up at the moment. For a second, I consider what would happen—what would he do—if I uncovered my face and looked at him. I could even tell him I didn’t know what he was doing to cover for my brevity, but I dismiss the idea. I respect him more than that.

“You seriously want to go to work hungover?”

“Not really, but I didn’t come here to drink and act like I was on a vacation.”

“You’re here to act like you were on a vacation,” Derek supplies. I pull the blanket down, revealing my face, my eyes finding Derek’s shape immediately. I’m sure even the tips of my ears go red in an instant, too—he’s wearing his black boxer briefs, his white shirt, a pair of black socks and nothing else. All the while I thought it was enough time for him to get dressed, unless he was deliberately stretching the duration of it, making it slow on purpose. He’s currently adjusting the collar of his unbuttoned shirt, his upper body on full display.

This is also the moment when I have to rush to the bathroom for the first time this morning.

Two seconds later, I can feel Derek’s hands finding my back and hair, supporting and helping me as I puke into the toilet. Once my bowel contractions end, Derek asks me teasingly in a playful tone, “Do I look that awful?” I bark out a laugh, standing on wobbly legs. Derek moves to support me along the way to the sink with his hands on my hip and the small of my back. A single glance at the mirror is enough to make my throat tight, choking me; we look like a couple who is waiting for their first baby.

I open the tap and Derek automatically reaches up to brush my hair back gently, holding it for me so that I can wash my face easily. When I’m ready with drying myself, Derek walks me back to the room. He sits me on the bed, then leaves the room only to return with two pills and a glass of water in his hands. He takes the place next to me on the bed, watching me as I drink up. Although late, I realize now that Derek rugged the curtains closed at some point in the morning—presumably before I woke up and he left for the bathroom. I can’t even begin to express how grateful I am for that.

“Get some rest,” he says quietly, taking the glass away from me, setting it on the nightstand. A second later, he’s pushing me down gently to lay back into bed. I try to protest, but Derek is more adamant and stronger than me, and it’s enough for him to flex his muscles just a tad harder to keep holding me down. “Don’t fight,” he scolds meekly, covering me up in the sheets. “I got a call, so I have to go in, but you got today off,” he informs me. “Just rest and get ready for tonight’s mission.” I can’t help but nod, succumbing to his will. My stomach clenches and my throat goes tight when he says with a gentle smile, “Good girl.”

Derek then stands and finishes dressing up. When he’s fixing his tie, he approaches the bed again and leans down, whispering, “Get better soon,” before kissing my forehead.

The next second, Derek pushes away from me like he was electrocuted, eyes wide as though he’s just realized what he was doing. He looks down at the floor, mumbling, “I’ll be back,” then turning on his heels sharply and leaving the room and me, alone with my confused thoughts.

Mind reeling, I search for my phone only to find dozens of messages there, most of them from Dan, asking me about my first undercover mission. For some reason, I don’t want to make it up for him with another dinner; in fact, I don’t even want to meet him again with the deliberate aim to date. I’m sure I wouldn’t be able to hold his hand, let alone kiss him once more.

And I’m sappy enough not to get up the entire day just because it was Derek to tuck me in under the blanket.

. o O o .

By the time Derek returns, I’m feeling much better and I’m over more than seven hours of sleep.

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty,” he greets me with a wide grin. I sit up in the bed, scooting up so that I can lean back against the headboard. “I brought you grapefruit juice,” he announces, getting out the bottle of the plastic bag and setting it on the nightstand. He pours me some in the glass that’s still there and gives it to me, taking a seat at the edge of the bed like in the morning.

“Thank you,” I accept it. After gulping it down, I set the glass back on the nightstand and ask, “What happened today?”

“The killer murdered yesterday again, and right now our unit is analysing him to perfect the profile.” I purse my lips and acknowledge the new information with a curt nod. “It’s not our fault,” he says, apparently sensing my unease. “Maybe he wasn’t even there last night. And you did a great job with assimilating into the crowd there,” he compliments. “Which is why we want you to join me tonight as well,” he adds. I can tell that there was a question implied—this is evidenced by the way he ducks his head a bit, searching my face.

“Okay,” I accept. “I’ll just have to drink less, I guess.” Derek can’t help the smile that makes the corner of his mouth twitch.

“I guess so,” he agrees easily.

“You’re pretty great at keeping this facade, by the way,” I praise him genuinely, although getting a tad of bitterness in my mouth as soon as I remember the random woman.

“You, too,” he reassures. “And I guess I’ll have to keep you closer to myself.” That statement makes me blush a bit, but then I remind myself that Derek didn’t mean it _that_ way, that he wasn’t hinting at anything at all. Derek  fidgets a bit on his spot, apparently contradicted whether to add something else or not. In the end, he opts to say it. “Excuse me if I’ll act more. . . pushy tonight. But our guy seems to endanger women who are close to another man, and if you attract his attention more, we have a higher chance to catch the motherfucker.”

“Okay,” I choke in a small voice, throat suddenly tight at the thought of being the bait. For some reason, the momentary change in Derek’s facial expression gives me the impression that he’s _glad_ about my reaction.

I sweep that thought out of my mind as soon as possible, and concentrate on the duty which I’m here for in the first place. I start with checking the time. The digital clock is showing 7:31 PM. “I need to get ready,” I announce the obvious, only to earn a knowing nod from Derek.

“Sure,” he says, making himself comfortable on the bed. He picks up the book I put on the other side of the furniture, beginning to read it, indicating I should go and start doing what I wanted, just how I suggested. So I do.

This is not only my first shower since my first night out, but also the first time when I’ve gotten around to get rid of my make-up. I wore more than I usually do, only to blend in more to the Las Vegas crowd—I’m definitely not used to having my waterline coloured with stark black, nor my lips covered in the burning colour of flames.

As for tonight, I settle with a more elegant, sophisticated look instead of going for the slut-like style I pulled off yesterday. I do my make-up accordingly—smokey look, lips still coloured red, but this time I look more like a young daring lady from the ‘70s instead of a prostitute who Derek picked up on the fly. I curl my hair, making lovely locks which fall down onto my shoulders and back easily, lazily. I leave the bathroom with only a towel covering my body, which has dried by now.

I catch Derek glancing up from the book, but just as fast as his eyes found me, they leave just as quickly. I can’t help my small smile.

I bury my nose in the wardrobe to find my simple black dress—it has lace on its top, and two very narrow straps which settle in dips at my shoulders, where the ends of my collarbones are. Closing the door of the furniture, I notice Derek peeking at me in the mirror which his head still hanging low over the book, without him knowing I can see him. Apparently he’s so invested in my figure that he’s completely oblivious to the looking-glass.

I snatch black lacy underwear for myself as well, then leave for the bathroom again to be able to change. Before putting on the dress, I carefully pull two black stockings on my legs; they are mid-thigh high, and I secure them with straps.

I softly walk back to the bedroom, and Derek glances up from the book. For a fraction of a second, his face conveys honest admiration, but what’s left behind in the end is pure desire. I swallow the sudden lump from my throat, trying to forget what my thoughts were today before I fell asleep, forget the fact that I no longer want to date Dan, even though we were really great together, and he definitely didn’t do anything to put me off—it’s not even Derek’s fault, but mine. I smile at him somewhat shyly as I wait for his comment on my outfit.

A half smile tugs up the corner of his mouth.

“I may have to keep shoving men off of you,” he compliments, closing the book and sitting at the edge of the bed without his gaze wavering away from me. He stands, approaching me slowly. The next time he speaks, his tone has dropped lower. “You look amazing.”

Once in front of me, I stare up into his pale eyes. His voice is just above a whisper when he says, “I think I’m getting jealous of Dan.”

I blush and my heart skips a beat, only to switch to a more erratic, frantic velocity.

“You-you really don’t need to be,” I stutter out quietly, averting my eyes to the floor. Derek’s eyebrows furrow in concern.

“What do you mean?”

“Um,” I shake my head dismissively, taking a step away from Derek. “Never mind.”

“Did you two break up?” I bite my lip, hesitant, still avoiding locking gazes with Derek.

“Not. . . quite? I just. . .” I can feel his eyes boring into me as he’s listening to me intently. I let out an exasperated sigh. “I just lost the spark, I guess.” I say in the end, shrugging.

“So you’re. . . no longer attracted to him?”

“He just doesn’t know about that yet. Also, my rationality is literally yelling at me not to let go of him, but. . . it’s harder to be with someone you don’t love than I initially thought.”

“Of course it is,” Derek points out matter-of-factly. “Why don’t you break up, though, when you don’t feel anything?”

“I don’t want to be alone again, and it’s hard to find a partner who tolerates my job,” I confess quietly.

“It’s better to be alone than in a bad relationship,” he says. 

“I know,” I grunt. “Let’s just talk about something else.”

“As you wish,” he says, suddenly smiling instead of having a concerned scowl on his face. “So like I said before, don’t be put off by me if I’m too. . . _hands-on_ tonight.”

I nod curtly. “Okay, that’s. . . okay.”

“It’s okay?” Derek asks back, amused and partially teasing with a half-smile.

I purse my lips and opt to start searching for my elegant black high-heels to wear instead of dealing with Derek’s smoldering attractiveness.

. o O o .

As Derek sits at a table, he tugs me down with him to sit in his lap, his arm around my waist secure and firm like a vise. He plants a kiss on my temple, then reaches for his cards. I don’t bother checking them, instead I sneak glances all around the place—when I want to look behind us, I chance a kiss at Derek’s forehead, down to his sharp cheekbones, just so I have more time to roam my eyes over the crowd. From time to time, when I spot someone suspicious, I shamelessly bite the tip of Derek’s ear to have an excuse for remaining in that twisted position longer. I can hear Derek stifling a guttural noise once, but I just whisper into his ear, “Pay attention to the game, not me.”

His response doesn’t fail to give birth to many and much more butterflies in my stomach.

“Shit, baby, I can’t focus on this damn game if you keep that up,” he whispers so that other than me, no one will be able to hear it.

“You should probably let go of me then,” I suggest, but I can only feel his fingers tightening on my hip.

“No,” he growls, leaving no room to budge.

“Guys, you two are really getting in character,” comes Isaac’s voice from the earphone, startling both of us a bit. Derek clears his throat, but I can feel his hand moving, him letting go of me reluctantly.

“Get back soon,” he says, almost an order, immediately moving to rest both of his elbows on the edge of the table, his body now entirely facing the desk. I slip away, and when I chance a glance back over my shoulder, the picture of Derek adjusting in his seat welcomes me. Ignoring my giddiness, I go on a usual survey of the place.


End file.
